Forgive Me, Father, For I Have Sinned
by Durotos
Summary: Even with a kind and welcoming priest, it can still be hard to say out loud what is truly weighing on one's heart… Written for the lovely SaoirseParisa's birthday! :) Artwork done by the amazing Jaronyan! :D


_**Author's Note: Written for my good friend SaoirseParisa, who is celebrating her birthday. Thank you so much for your kindness and support. You've helped me through some hard times and I can't thank you enough. I love our talks and I hope you have a wonderful birthday! :)**_

 _ ** _ **Also a special shoutout to Jaronyan who made the lovely cover art! Thanks so much for being so patient with all my requests! :D**_**_

 _ **0o0o0o0**_

I've been in this room more times than I can count, but the nervousness that follows me every time I step inside never fails to make my knees go a little weak. Taking a deep breath, I pull the doorknob shut behind me, the metal slipping in my sweaty fingers. The door shuts with an unexpectedly loud click and a jolt of electricity runs up my spine.

"Ah, hello."

His voice is warm as always, but it doesn't comfort me today. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the worn armchair just beyond the privacy screen. Again, today's not a day to get comfortable. I can make out his silhouette through the patterned holes punched in the thin sheet of metal between us and I wonder how easily he can see me through it. I guess it's more for the parishioner's state of mind than anything else. I can see him turn to face the screen, awaiting some sort of response.

"H-hi, Carter…" Everything is screaming for me to leave the room, but I am drawn to the cushioned kneeler in front of the screen by an inexplicable force. I hang my head, my brown bangs obscuring my eyes, hanging on to the childish notion that if I can't see him, then he can't see me. Well, I guess he isn't supposed to through the screen, but based on how easily I can see _him_ …

"It's a beautiful day out there." He lets out a gentle sigh and I can tell he is attempting to comfort me as he often does. I can see him fold his hands in his lap. "The big puffy clouds out there remind me of cloud gazing as a child. Perhaps I should take May and Stu out for some fresh air this afternoon…"

I say nothing in reply as I struggle to regain my composure. My throat is constricted, and the room suddenly feels far too warm. Swallowing, I decide my mouth is far too dry, as well.

"What can I do for you today?" His voice is inquiring, yet gentle, and it has drawn words out of me countless times.

What _can_ he do for me, anyway? How do I even begin to explain what has been plaguing me for the past couple of months? "A… c-confession, I suppose…"

I'm not sure how Carter manages to sound businesslike and sympathetic at the same time; it must be a special sort of power he learned in seminary school. "Alright. Start whenever you feel comfortable."

My mind becomes drowned in a sea of mental dialogue and I forget for a brief moment _how_ I feel. Frustrated now, I guess. "I… don't know _how_ to begin," I admit lamely. I wasn't a religious person before I moved here, and to be honest, Carter had never walked me through all of the proper steps of a confession. He had told me on several occasions that the protocols themselves weren't as important as expressing yourself honestly. I become mesmerized as I watch him twiddle his thumbs; the motion is soothing and it takes a bit of the edge off of my nerves. "I guess I've been longing for something I know I've got no business having." Perhaps the proper word for that is _covet_ … That's a word used a lot in religious stuff, right? Does that even work in this situation, though?

"And what would that be?"

I should know better; this answer isn't sufficient enough for him. I once again scramble to explain my situation and again I become muddled – so easily. "Well, she brought me lunch again today. I was sitting alone in my room. I wasn't expecting her…"

Carter's exhale sounds a bit louder than usual for a brief moment and I wonder if he is passing judgment on me or growing impatient. It really is best to just get the whole thing out now…

"Well, I asked her what the occasion was – for the food, I mean – and she looked a little hurt. It was my favorite, after all. She made curry and even put pork katsu on top." My mouth begins to water at the mere memory. It had been delicious – too delicious. I shouldn't have accepted it at all. "A-anyway, I felt bad about her going through all that work. I-I mean, she probably just made a big batch at home and brought leftovers." I slipped in a weak laugh. "It's not like she'd go through all that trouble just for me; that's just silly." I dismiss this with a wave of a hand even though he probably wouldn't or shouldn't be able to see it anyway. "And it's selfish for me to assume she'd do that."

"Why is it selfish for you to hope that a friend did something nice just for you?"

His tone is never accusing, and I am always grateful for that. However, he has presented me with a riddle that I don't know the answer to. _Because I said so_ doesn't seem like a very mature reply from a man of twenty-four. Then again, Carter knows how immature and selfish I can be… "I, uh…" There's got to be _another_ way to say that without sounding like an idiot. There's a long silence as I debate whether or not to go on with my story. Will he continue to question the way my admittedly warped mind works?

"If you don't open up to me, I can't help you."

I find myself twiddling my thumbs in an attempt to calm down, copying the fluid motions Carter was making earlier; it seems to burn down a bit of my excess nervous energy. "I think it's okay if _other_ people hope that kind of thing…" I know that's not really the answer he wants to hear, but I have nothing else to give him. My fingers move to the ends of my ponytail draping over my shoulder.

"Claire is a generous soul, and she's happy to share with others. If she's bringing you lunch, it's because _she wants to_."

My heart begins to pound in my throat and I struggle for breath as my cheeks catch fire. "I-I n-never said it was _Claire_." I run out of air and my voice cracks as I say her name; I'm more grateful than ever that I am behind the semi-private screen. I continue to stroke my hair, entranced by the way the strands begin to curl at the end when I run my fingers through them. I wonder if Claire's does the same thing. I bet her hair feels silky and smells nice… probably like lavender or wild roses…

The priest lets out a soft, self-critical chuckle and I can see him shaking his head. He knows it's me back here – and _he_ knows _I_ know… He also knows who I'm talking about… This is all starting to feel a little ridiculous, but it's far too late to move to the armchair. "My apologies. Either way, friends do things for each other out of love."

I gasp slightly at his final word and he falls silent, turning toward the screen. Despite the fact that he may or may not be able to see me, the room feels even warmer and I can feel a bead of perspiration beginning to run down my forehead. I impatiently brush it away with my forearm and continue playing with the sun-bleached ends of my hair, my unruly bangs ignored. _Love?_ How can Carter use that word so casually? "She doesn't _love_ me; she has much more important things to worry about." My breath escapes my lungs and I stroke my hair soothingly in a feeble effort to comfort myself. " _That's_ why I'm confessing." Surely I had explained everything more than enough.

"You're confessing that you feel your friend doesn't love you and you inconvenienced them by… well… _existing_?"

I find myself clenching my jaw and fists in frustration, my leather moccasins grinding together in an effort to keep me from raising my voice. "Do you want me to say _yes_? Because that's all I have to say." This becomes an immediate lie as the floodgates open. "I can't help it that I'm nothing but a burden for her. I can't help it that I have these feelings for her anyway – these ridiculous, silly feelings! I-I haven't done anything to earn them, and I can't tell you how many times I've tried to ignore them! What good are they when I have absolutely nothing to offer her? I'm a bum that can't find a job and I've half-given up on trying. And now I have these _stupid_ feelings…" I can feel my body slightly rocking back and forth as I catch my breath. "I know I don't deserve to dream of her the way I do – she's in my arms and she fits just right… We're happy and she doesn't think I'm a failure." My voice begins to crack, but I continue anyway. "I can't keep myself from wanting to hear her say my name in that adorable city accent of hers! And I can't stop myself from feeling faint every time she so much as looks my way! I _hate_ how amazing she is and how drawn to her I am!" I'm sure I sound crazy, but I don't care anymore. My thoughts are like a poison I need to purge; my sore throat is proof of that. Well, either that, or the fact that I'm probably yelling and the entire town can hear me. Still, I can't manage to turn down the volume. I'm so tired of being quiet, soft-spoken, ignored… "Why are the gods so intent on punishing me? I don't _want_ to be in love with Claire! I don't deserve to be in love with _anyone_! I want to sit in my quiet front pew away from everyone else and repent my past. Why is that so hard? I'm _not allowed_ to have these kinds of feelings for her!" My eyes begin welling up with tears and I quickly blink them away, rubbing my face with the back of my hand for good measure. I can't speak anymore because the lump in my throat has doubled in size within the past minute or so.

His voice is steady and gentle, yet it somehow irritates me. "Cliff…" We both know he's breaking protocol, but he doesn't really seem to care at the moment. "These are _human emotions_. Regardless of what you have done in your past, you are a human, too." He pauses, and I can see him shifting in his chair to get more comfortable. "And you're _allowed_ to want to pursue a relationship with her, romantic or platonic. It's just as we've talked about before. It's okay to wish and work for a better future. There's nothing selfish about that."

He makes it sound so simple! "But when I left home, I-" The room suddenly feels dimmer as I feel myself sinking. There's a reason I actively try to forget about it all. I can still feel the heavy snowfall on that cold winter night, hear the sound of my mother's voice calling out my name as I hurried away – did I even remember her voice correctly? I place my fingertips on my temples in an attempt to stabilize myself; my head feels like it's spinning. I would still have a family if I never left in the first place. "Th-there are so many things that I ruined…" I'm unable to hide the awful mix of sobbing and laughter in my voice and I can feel my eyes flickering as I struggle to gain focus. "I need to fix it. I need to fix it, but I can't." My words gain momentum and I can hear myself chanting these last couple of sentences like a mantra but it doesn't sound like me. My vision becomes tunneled and I stare unblinkingly forward.

I forget where I am. I lose track what I was even thinking about. My mind goes blank and my vision blurs. My mouth is moving but I am unable to make sense of my own words. All I can hear is the awful blood rushing in my ears. There is no past, no future. There is only now, and that _now_ is nothing.

Carter's fingernails running along the divider between us begins to snap me out of my state. "Cliff… What does the privacy screen feel like?"

I reach a trembling hand out to the metal screen, my sweaty fingers streaking the antique finish on it. My eyes flicker as they study the texture. I am in the confessional. He has tossed me a rope, and I grasp at it with desperation, trying to pull myself back to the real world. "Bumpy. Cold. Hard." My nails graze it, creating a musical effect.

"Touch the carpet."

A bit of light returns to the room as I lean over a bit, my dizziness fading. "Rough. Scratchy. Gritty."

A slight snort jolts me further back into reality. "Sorry about that. I told Stu not to bring animal crackers in here. You know how he can be."

I nod slowly, a picture of the young boy coming to my mind slowly as if my brain is a machine that is getting warmed up. Animal crackers. I recall the biscuits that had sat in front of Stu the other day. Ducks, elephants, an indistinguishable four-legged creature… What was it Ma said that one was supposed to be? I'll never know, because I can never ask her now… I run my fingers along the carpet again, as I can feel myself slipping and my heart dropping once more at the thought of her. Stiff wool. The ends are looped. Isn't it what they call berber carpet? Like I know anything about that. We had earthen floors back home – lovely, silky, cozy earthen floors that warmed you to the core when you stepped on them barefoot. "I guess you aren't at liberty to tell me if he confessed for that while he was in here."

"Unfortunately, I can't." There's a great wave of relief in Carter's voice and I am comforted by it. "Stu often does things just to see what he can get away with."

I feel a halfhearted chuckle escape my lips at the memory of him put to his usual shenanigans. He isn't unlike my younger sister when we were children ourselves. Wading through the river, climbing the large trees that bordered our small village, sword fighting with sticks – there was a time I thought those days would never end. Things change when you're an adult, though. The words on the letter she left when I returned home after those years are still etched into my memory…

I'm dragged from dreamland as I hear Carter scuff his shoes on the carpet. "He does have a certain talent for doing what he wants… He might not be the worst example to follow." A small chuckle can be heard through the screen. "I do ask that you don't grind your snacks into this carpet, though."

My heart lifts a little as a small hum sounds from the back of my throat – the beginnings of a chuckle I am unable to contain.

"I can assure you that Claire doesn't find your company burdensome," Carter continues. "She speaks very highly of you and often talks about your little adventures together. It's plain to see that you're a dear friend to her."

My breath catches in the back of my throat. Am I really worthy of that title? I love and hate the way my heart pounds at these words. This beautiful, slightly dorky, charming, scatterbrained woman thinks of me as _dear_?

"Did you enjoy the curry she made for you?"

I'm a little unsure of why he's asking me and I find myself playing with the ends of my hair once more. I nod emphatically, only half-wondering if he can tell that I am. "Well, yeah. A lot. A little spicier and it would have been identical to Ma's."

"Then tell her you enjoyed it." I can hear a smile in Carter's voice, and I can't help but feel the darkness lift a little more. "Let her know that you appreciate her thoughtfulness. I think with time, you'll start to realize she's trying to thank you for kindness as well. Cliff?"

At the sound of my name, I jump a little. "Y-yes?"

"It's not a sin for others to spend time and effort on you. If the gods truly wanted to punish you, they never would have brought you here to this town to meet people who want to form bonds with you."

I instinctively struggle to come up with an argument and I am trying to form the words on my tongue.

Carter's voice distracts me once more from my thoughts. "You'll always have friends here. You'll find that this little town has a strange way of healing damaged souls." He lets out a soft, benign laugh that makes me wonder if he's referring to himself or other residents of Mineral Town.

"Huh…" I allow the experience in this room to sink into my brain for a quiet moment. "Thank you." I stand up, deciding my next destination will be the farm to the south. I can still see the confused and hurt look on her face. I want to apologize, but I'm not sure how to begin. I guess it's like Carter said – I should thank her for the curry. Is it really that simple, though? I'm terrible with words, but I just want to see those beautiful eyes of hers smile once more. I want to laugh and talk with her again. Just thinking about it is more rewarding than anything I've done all day. It makes my heart feel lighter, less burdened – almost like there's something still waiting for me.

A warm, comforting touch at my arm as I sit in the pew at the church. Sweet, caring words spoken in a dialect so different from my own. A pair of pink lips turned up into an innocent and, dare I say, loving smile.

I can't help but pray that the something waiting for me is her. Whether it's a close friendship or something more intimate, I can't get this idea out of my head that she's meant to be part of my life…

And maybe it's not the worst thing in the world to let myself feel that way.


End file.
